


Anders

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, bittersweet fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke asks Anders about his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anders

**Author's Note:**

> More old fic with minor edits.

"You’ve never told me the story behind your name." Garrett tosses Anders a meaningful look while they’re standing by their bed, slipping out of their day clothing and getting ready to climb under the sheets for a few precious hours’ rest after a long, tiring day.

“‘Story’?” Anders looks befuddled, as if the question doesn’t make sense.

"You _really_ wouldn’t think it strange if my name was ‘Fereldan’?” Garrett’s eyebrow quirks at an inquisitive angle.

"Ah. **That**.” Anders sits gently on the side of the bed, folding his hands into his lap as he looks at the floor. Garrett feels like he should do something instead of just standing there dumbly, so he sits beside Anders, almost wishing he hadn’t asked, now. He’d expected some sarcastic comeback or silly anecdote, not something clearly unpleasant or upsetting. He covers Anders’ clasped hands with his own, finding them cool to the touch.

"My first year in the Circle," Anders begins, raising his head just enough to stare out across the room at the wall. "I didn’t talk. To anyone. I was so… _angry_ , I guess. I refused to say anything, to even give them my name. They’d dragged me from my mother’s arms in chains, marched me to the tower and tossed me in with all the other apprentices, herded us all together like frightened cattle. It sounds stupid to say so now, I know, but at the time... I felt like my name was all I had left. I wouldn’t let them have that, too.”

Anders sighs and finally turns to look at Hawke, though he can’t hold his gaze for long and let his eyes dart around the room at random, unable to really focus. Garrett wants to interject, to tell him that it's not stupid at all, at least, not to him, but he's genuinely worried that Anders might clam up if interrupted and thrown off-balance, so he remains silent, content to simply listen. 

“My family, we… I… came to Ferelden from the Anderfels. So the templars just started yelling, “Hey, you! The Anders boy!” when they wanted me. They eventually just shortened it to ‘Anders’. And it stuck.”

"You never spoke a word to anyone?" Garrett asks, unable to help himself this time. He tries to imagine what that could possibly be like, but even his imagination fails him.

"Not for almost a year." Anders shivers slightly, sitting on the edge of the bed in only his shirt and pants, chilled inside-out from unpleasant, long-buried feelings that even the warmth of Garrett’s hands on his can’t touch. He pauses for a moment, knowing exactly what he wants to say, what he _needs_ to say next, but still, at the same time, fearing what might happen if he allows the words to fall from his lips. He feels his hands start to shake as he speaks.

"Not until... I met Karl."

Anders stops then, and Garrett doesn’t press him for more. He doesn’t understand all of Anders’ pain, but he sympathizes, and somehow, that’s usually enough to keep them both from falling apart. He waits patiently for Anders to pull himself together—Garrett knows he will because he’s _Anders_ , and he always does—and sure enough, Anders falters only for a moment before steeling himself to continue.

"We were studying together, some ridiculously boring thing that the Senior Enchanters told us was important but I always thought was just meant to keep the apprentices busy and quiet and out of their hair," he say, with the tiniest hint of a nostalgic smile at the corner of his lips. "Anyway, Karl… he got a nasty cut on his hand from the parchment, and it bled like a war wound. Without even thinking, after I saw all that blood, I took him by the hand and healed him." Anders laughs at that, a soft, nervous laugh, and wriggles his fingers where they are clasped underneath Garrett’s.

"I was so clumsy, I had no idea what I was doing. But it worked." The tiny smile on Anders' lips suddenly turns bittersweet. "He smiled at me. And thanked me. He told me his name, and asked me for mine. Without even thinking, I just blurted out, ‘ _Anders_ ’. That was what everyone called me, that’s who I was, there. I left that nameless little boy from the Anderfels behind, to rest somewhere in peace, somewhere the templars will never hurt him. So I kept that name, 'Anders,' and that's who I’ve been, ever since.”

Garrett gropes for words that he thinks might be consolatory, but in truth, he knows better than that. Anders doesn’t need consoling, not now. He needs love, and acceptance, and support, and somehow, Garrett has found himself able to give all those things in abundance, and there isn’t a day that goes by when Anders doesn’t thank him for it, or remind him of how much it means to have Garrett in his life at all.

"And that’s who I love," Garrett says, finally finding the words he needs, leaning in to press a soft, gentle kiss to the side of Anders’ mouth. Anders turns his head at the very last moment to kiss him back, light and sweet and full of gratitude that he can’t find any other way to express, and as they reluctantly pull themselves apart, Anders finally feels the chill inside himself fading away, replaced by Garrett’s warmth.

"Then that’s all I need to be," he says with a nod, and Garrett simply kisses him again. 


End file.
